


Fixer-Upper

by speccygeekgrrl



Category: Heroes - Fandom
Genre: M/M, kink meme fill
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-10-06
Updated: 2009-10-06
Packaged: 2017-10-02 12:39:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,942
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6418
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/speccygeekgrrl/pseuds/speccygeekgrrl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Arthur gives Gabriel a gift... but he's going to have to fix it before it'll be any use at all, and only he can make those repairs.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Fixer-Upper

**Author's Note:**

> Goes AU from 3x09, "It's Coming"

"You've got to learn to access your empathy, that part of your heart I know is there." Arthur stops in front of a door, unlocking it as Gabriel looks on.

"Empathy? What makes you think I'm capable of that?"

"Because I know you're the one who saved Peter from that fall." Arthur tilts his head toward the door, motioning his son in. "You'd be surprised how much it's in your nature to repair anything that's broken, son." Gabriel's thick eyebrows draw together, but he steps into the dark room. "This is a gift from me, but you have to fix it on your own," Arthur warns him, and locks the heavy door behind Gabriel's back. The man glances behind him, only partly surprised, then walks deeper into the room, one long stride after another.

"You," a voice rasps. Gabriel stops short-- he knows that voice, but it's all wrong, there's something terribly wrong... "I should have known you'd be the one to kill me in the end, Sylar." On the floor, very close to the back wall, is a figure hunched over. Gabriel can make out slim arms, a mess of curls.

"Mohinder?" He comes closer, one hand outstretched. "Mohinder, what have they done to you?" The scientist shrinks back, presses himself against the wall, and chains on his wrists clink when he moves.

"They?" Mohinder's laugh is a sick thing, a rattlesnake's warning or the hiss of dry dead leaves. "They did nothing. I did this. A human sacrifice to science. Trying to force evolution."

"You gave yourself powers?" Gabriel doesn't need anything spelled out for him, but this-- this doesn't seem like the ambitious, misguided do-gooder that had traveled with Zane Taylor. "And--?"

"And I fucked up. Obviously." Mohinder looks away, and the hint of light from the window of the door catches and reflects off the delicate line of his cheekbone-- a crystalline pattern of scales that frame his right eye like some exotic makeup. "And now you're here to, what, put me out of my misery? Dissect my brain to see where I went wrong?"

"I'm not here to kill you," Gabriel says. "I want to help, Mohinder. Let me help you." He lifts a hand, and Mohinder shies away as far as the chains will let him-- not far at all.

"Why should I trust you? You've tried to kill me half a dozen times already. You killed my father, at least a dozen people with abilities..."

"I'm trying to change. I don't want to be that person any more." He comes closer, close enough to feel the strange heat from Mohinder's body, and reaches out again, fingertips hovering just barely away from that line of scales. "Nothing I can do will make up for what I've done. You have no reason to forgive me, but I still need to... I can fix you, I know I can, just let me _try_."

Mohinder turns, just enough to look at Gabriel. His pale profile is much easier to make out in the dark, his brows and eyes and hair just so much negative space, and either way Mohinder chooses, he's fucked anyhow... so he might as well go out the way of hope, the same way he got himself into this mess. Deliberately, he inclines his head, until he can feel the soft palm of his greatest foe's hand on his cheek.

Neither of them breathes for a long, long moment.

Gabriel is overwhelmed with two purely mental powers kicked into high gear: his intuitive aptitude is puzzling out Mohinder's strange malady, while the clairsentience that was Angela's gift to him brings the man's history into clear vision.

When he had grabbed Claire Bennet's hand to keep her from being sucked into a vortex, he had suddenly understood her: the pain he'd caused her, yes, but also what Noah had inflicted, each attempt on her own life, the pettiness of high school rivalries, the weekend ritual of waffles. Claire was only seventeen, though.

Mohinder Suresh is thirty-four. He speaks two languages fluently and a handful of others passably. Gabriel feels what Mohinder has felt strongly: the excitement of a scientific breakthrough, the heartache of his father's abandonment, the terror of realizing that a companion that he had become attached to (loved?) was in fact a serial killer... the despair of losing himself to whatever change was being wreaked upon his body.

"Oh, Mohinder," Gabriel breaths. The cuffs around Mohinder's wrists snap with a thought, and the weary captive sags into Gabriel's arms. "I'm going to save you. I promise."

When Mohinder hooks his chin over Gabriel's shoulder, it's easy to pick him up; he's light, not fragile in the way he was when Sylar played with him like a toy, but still not a burden for Gabriel to carry across the room, into the light. That scaled cheek presses against Gabriel's neck, and he can control the clairsentience now that it's not that first unpredictable, overwhelming influx.

It's been little more than a week since their encounter in the loft laboratory, and Mohinder's body tells him so much has happened. The fury of losing Niki's cure, the thrill of discovering the source of abilities, the sheer agony of the serum working through him, the ecstasy of testing his new powers... Gabriel flinches at the sense memory of Maya under Mohinder, and he's not sure why he's so jealous at the thought of them together.

And then the fear, the loss of control, the flimsy justifications. Hands molding tough cocoons to hold bodies on the wall. Research going nowhere. Scales forcing through his skin, hard and ugly and terrifying.

Gabriel sets Mohinder down carefully, holding him by his shoulders. For all he's been through, Mohinder's eyes are the same, and this more than anything convinces Gabriel that it's possible to fix what's been broken in every cell of Mohinder's body. "I'm going to take off your shirt. I have to see," he says quietly, and when Mohinder nods he simply slices the t-shirt, pulling it down Mohinder's arms.

The change is skewed toward Mohinder's right side. The scales that line his cheek are tiny, delicate compared to the ones that coat his shoulderblade, run down his arm all the way to his hand, draw an unsteady path down his ribs and stop just above the bone of his hip. Gabriel runs his fingers over them, feeling out texture (cool, slightly rough) and hardness (unyielding), letting his unstoppable brain focus entirely on the problem the erstwhile scientist presents.

Mohinder tries to stay stoic, but Gabriel doesn't need enhanced hearing to catch the hitch in his breath or the uptick in his heartbeat. "You know, they're kind of pretty," Gabriel says, and traces the line where scales and skin meet. "You glitter in the light."

"Please, don't." Mohinder's voice is little more than a whisper. "You can't touch me like that, Sylar, not now." Gabriel withdraws his hand, but leans in close enough that his mouth almost brushes Mohinder's ear.

"I go by Gabriel these days." He breathes in, and Mohinder suddenly smells so good, so alluring--

"Gabriel, then. It's pheromones, I can't control them." He tries to slip Gabriel's grasp, finds it as futile now as it ever was. "You have to let go of me."

"I'm not that weak." Not mentally, at least. Gabriel's whole body is lit up with yearning, wanting to taste Mohinder, to explore the borders of skin and scale while he processed the way (this could ever be enough) to cure Mohinder of his experimentation. "And you're not as irresistible as you think," he teased, reaching up to cup Mohinder's face and trace that line of small scales with his thumb.

"I warned you," Mohinder breathes, his eyes closing at Gabriel's gentle touch; his slim hands reach out for the first time and close around Gabriel's hips with bruising force. "I _am_ that weak." Not physically, he isn't. Mohinder pins Gabriel back against the door effortlessly, presses his nose into the scratchy skin under Gabriel's jaw and inhales. "You're not scared."

"Why would I be scared?" On the contrary, Gabriel feels ridiculously calm, like Mohinder's hands on him are the teeth of a cog finally fitting into place and the the press of his lithe mis-evolved body is setting alive the perpetual motion of a self-winding watch. "You can't hurt me, and I doubt that you would..." He slides both hands into Mohinder's lank curls, pulling the smaller man's head back to find endless darkness in his eyes. "No matter what you do, I'm going to take you apart and put you back together right, Mohinder." His lips quirk briefly. "And you smell so fucking good..."

Whichever one of them starts the kiss, it soon becomes obvious that neither one of them is going to control it; they trade off dominance with every breath, every curl of tongue or scrape of teeth, every thoughtless excited sound lost into the other's mouth.

Mohinder breaks the kiss first, his lips falling to Gabriel's shoulder, nuzzling between his shirt collar and the skin of his throat, seeking out where the pulse beats closest to the surface. "No one else has touched me since these started showing up... how can you just ignore them so easily?"

"I'm not ignoring them, I'm thinking about them." Gabriel lets his head fall back, thrilling to the warm rush of Mohinder's breath against his own neglected body. "But I could if you wanted me to. The way you reacted, seems like they're sensitive..." Maybe he isn't as immune to the pheromones as he said. Gabriel's telekinesis negates Mohinder's overwhelming strength, lets him push the smaller man against the door and hold him securely, slim brown chest pressed to cold metal. One hand caresses down Mohinder's spine, fingertips catching slightly on the edges of the scales.

"Gabriel," Mohinder cries out, part desperation and part encouragement; he trembles under the curious gentle touch tracing his deformed skin and tries his hardest to resist the need to wrap Gabriel up in webbing, cocoon him and keep him safe, safe and all Mohinder's.

"Shh, let me understand." The change is fascinating, how smoothly skin becomes scale, the dark glistening pattern of polygons fitting together. "Let me..." Gabriel slides down on one knee, following with one fingertip from just behind Mohinder's ear all the way to his waist. When he touches his open mouth to the border where skin changes, Mohinder makes a terrified noise and tries to flinch away, but has nowhere to go. "Don't be scared, Mohinder, please."

"Scared? You think I'm--" Mohinder lets his head fall against the door with a quiet thunk, covering Gabriel's hand with his own. "I'm terrified," he says softly, "but not of you." Lacing his fingers with Gabriel's, he draws the pale hand around his hip, firmly presses their palms against the front of his pants.

"Jesus," Gabriel gasps, his hand reflexively molding around Mohinder's straining erection, burningly hot through thin sweatpants, feeling like he is being branded forever by the sheer force of desire. The pheromones could be helping along the process of turning his nerves into flame, but the _wanting_ isn't new. "Mohinder, please, tell me you actually want this..." He can't wait for an answer before he's licking up Mohinder's back, velvet skin on one side of his tongue, smooth polished scales on the other.

"I want it all," Mohinder rasps, hips pressing forward, back arching the other way. "Everything, Gabriel. Give me everything."

Gabriel is already fully absorbed in Mohinder, every thought in his head, every motion of his body completely focused toward the promise he's made. Whatever saving Mohinder entails, he's prepared to do, but there's so much more he wants to do on the way... He hooks two fingers in the waist of Mohinder's pants and drags down, baring more warm skin, more scales. On his back, they don't stop at his hip; the pattern weaves to the very base of his spine, arches above the curve of his muscled rear, and continues down the side of his right leg. Gabriel nudges his legs apart with a touch, still tonguing the line of scales, tracing the spaces between and working lower.

"That feels so strange," Mohinder says, his voice distant and yearning, one hand palming back to catch at Gabriel's hair. "How are you doing this, I couldn't feel anything--"

"I don't know. I don't know, just stand still for a minute." The pause has nothing to do with considering Mohinder's transformation and how to reverse it. Gabriel nuzzles against the dip of Mohinder's lower back, breathing slowly. "You couldn't feel anything on the scales before now?"

"Only pressure. Not sensation." Mohinder's stillness breaks with the drag of Gabriel's scratchy cheek over the smooth skin of his bottom; he wriggles and whimpers and pleads, "Keep touching me, your hands, please. I can _feel_ you." The need in Mohinder's voice is almost enough to break Gabriel's resolve, but he has to think about a solution to Mohinder's problem, not about pressing the scientist against the wall and taking delicious advantage of him.

It's very, very hard not to think about taking delicious advantage of Mohinder when he so obviously wants Gabriel to do just that. Gabriel does what Mohinder asked, though, stroking broad hands up and down lean brown sides, testing how Mohinder will react to touches restricted to the metamorphosed parts of his skin. The reactions are gratifyingly similar to the same touches on his smooth unmarred skin: shifting into Gabriel's touch, sighing, asking wordlessly for more.

"You're amazing..." Gabriel leans in, bites gently at the jut of Mohinder's hipbone, and urges him to turn around with insistent hands and just a touch of telekinesis. Mohinder's front side is noticeably less changed than his back, but the scaled patterns that work their way around his ribs are mysterious, lines and curves like sigils, like Mohinder's body itself is trying to spell out some secret for only knowing eyes to understand.

Gabriel wants to understand. He knows he can. He can understand anything with enough time, and Mohinder is his now-- they have all the time in the world. "Gabriel," Mohinder whines, doing a pitiful job of trying not to move; the bump of hot, hard flesh against his cheek brings Gabriel out of the reverie of trying to learn what's written on Mohinder's skin. He looks up, lips pursing before curving into a smile.

"Pushy. Don't forget who's whose, Doctor," he says playfully, running the tip of his nose along Mohinder's erection from base to tip and making the smaller man moan. "I suppose this is an experiment... how much has _this_ been affected by the change," he adds, not entirely sure whether he's joking or not; he pulls back just enough to take Mohinder into his mouth, lips sliding slick around the tip and tongue lapping at the wetness already there.

"Fuck. Yes." Mohinder's hips roll restlessly, and Gabriel pins him back with half a thought and a small exertion of will, busy taking in Mohinder's scent and taste where they are strongest. Pheromones, yes, threaded all through Mohinder's slightly sweaty, slightly spicy natural odor, and he tastes almost sweet, surprisingly not bitter in the least. Gabriel hums thoughtfully, and the way Mohinder struggles against the telekinetic hold Gabriel has on him is beautiful: tossed hair, skin flushed darker, eyes nearly feverish and almost black with purely instinctual sensuality. "Please..."

Once, Mohinder's begging would have engendered only scorn, but Gabriel has changed; he takes hold of Mohinder's hips and lets his fingers press into skin on one side, scales on the other, pleased with the contrast and with Mohinder's unsteady breath. Moving in, he sighs around Mohinder's length, not stopping until his lips touch curls and the back of his throat aches slightly with the effort of swallowing around Mohinder's cock.

The sounds that escape Mohinder when Gabriel starts to suck are inhuman: completely unrestrained, wordless, _visceral_ cries that spur Gabriel on, catching them up in a feedback circle that can't possibly sustain itself. Intensity builds until it breaks, and Mohinder shakes as if he'll come apart entirely, shooting off into Gabriel's mouth and sagging into the telekinetic hold a breath later, weak with satiation and afterglow.

Gabriel stays on his knees, but lowers Mohinder carefully to the ground after tuging his pants up. His dark eyes are dozy when Gabriel meets them, and he looks almost embarrassed-- but doesn't apologize, which is good. Shifting until Mohinder's head is in his lap, Gabriel ignores his own arousal; he's entirely focused inward, pondering the puzzle embodied in the scientist's skin. "Mohinder, how soon did the side effects begin after you injected yourself?"

"24 hours, give or take a couple." Mohinder can hardly keep his eyes open. Gabriel sincerely hopes that's a problem involved with the genetic tinkering and not just something Mohinder always does. "Spread's been more or less constant, but less icky lately."

"Icky? Is that a scientific term?" The only answer Gabriel receives is a lazy quirk of Mohinder's lips. He weaves his fingers through the sleeping man's curls, watching the light glint off of the scales around Mohinder's eye, and lets his mind take apart the pieces of what he knows and fit them back together into something helpful. One way or another, he refuses to lose (his new pet?) Mohinder to the degradation of his DNA.

Gabriel knows he can fix this. He can understand the problem, and correct it. There is nothing he can't figure out.

But first, he wants to learn what's being spelled out on Mohinder's skin.


End file.
